“White. A blank page or canvas. His favorite. So many possibilities…” [1]
In my childhood, for economic reasons we were not a family that habituated Broadway musicals; we did see all the movie adaptations and such original musical films as were still being created in the Hollywood of the 1950s. I certainly knew the names Hammerstein, Rogers, Porter, and Berlin. But I was an outsider looking in at that theatrical world. For my first Broadway musical, I saw the original production of Meredith Wilson’s “The Music Man,” but where insiders had been able to see Robert Preston in his now legendary performance, we could not get tickets until Mr. Preston had been replaced by a series of other performers, including for my tickets, Bert Parks, best known for his MCing of the Miss America Beauty Pageant. To make matters worse, on the day we were to see the show, Mr. Parks was in Atlantic City rehearsing for the pageant, so we got to see his understudy. This young man, whose name has slipped away over time, was certainly brilliant. How could he not have been?!
It was a Broadway musical! And I had never seen anything like it. In truth, looking at something new though eyes so young and innocent renders the event something whose likes can never be seen again. It’s just a fact of life; no amount of creativity can replicate for the viewer that first time, that first exposure to the world of music and spectacle that such a show creates.
It is important to keep in mind, though, that this world of spectacle is not limited to 76 trombones bursting out on to the stage; it is rather the world-embracing view the audience hears of a young woman’s yearnings in “Good Night, My Someone” or the two blossoming lovers singing “Till There Was You,” as the show moves toward its finale. That is the spectacle of the human soul. This the Broadway musical can evoke when all the parts come together well.
I suppose I had often heard the name Stephen Sondheim as a child and teenager. I certainly knew of “Gypsy” and “West Side Story” without having seen either except in the film adaptations. But he was not immediately evident on the landscape available to the outsider. “West Side Story” belonged to Bernstein and “Gypsy” was, of course, Merman’s.
My first real exposure to Sondheim came when I was in college in Boston. A fellow student and very close friend, who also lived in Brooklyn, sought me out on our return to the dorms from a vacation to excitedly tell me about this Broadway show he had seen. He went on and on about it; the more he talked the more exciting it sounded. It was also great that the show had cheap seats available for every performance, sold on a “day of…” basis.
I promised I would see it on our next break. The show was Sondheim/(Harold) Prince’s “Company.”
I saw it.
True to my Broadway history, I missed the original cast, at least most of it. Most importantly, I missed Elaine Stritch’s now-legendary rendering of “Ladies Who Lunch,” one of Sondheim’s great monologues. [2]
“Company” reveled in the kind of character spectacle described above. The human soul as the landscape of life.
Immediately following “Company,” Sondheim, collaborating again with Harold Prince, explored the human spectacle, but now, in “Follies,” through the partial recreation of a Ziegfeld-type show. He explored his characters in intimate monologues/dialogues interspersed with sometimes ghost-like production numbers as the pasts and presents of his main characters interweave.
This was a new Broadway; “Till There Was You” had morphed into “In Buddy’s Eyes.” The first flush of romantic love collides with Time and its co-conspirator Age. But characters learn.
This has been my overview of Sondheim and his place in Broadway musical theater. It is not meant to be definitive or even scholarly. It is personal.
These are the kinds of thoughts one would expect in the back room at a traditional Irish wake, not too far from the Guinness and the Jameson’s.
So, Stephen, welcome to your Irish wake!
But let’s not talk about you just yet.
Certain individuals have defined their corners of the arts as I have moved through my life: Charlie Parker and John Coltrane in jazz; John Le Carrė and Margaret Atwood in fiction; Harold Pinter, Samuel Beckett, David Mamet, Jose Quintero, Sam Shepard in theater; Coleen Dewhurst, Bill Irwin, James Earl Jones, Jason Robards, Jr. in acting; Kurosawa Akira, John Ford, Howard Hawks, Alfred Hitchcock, Mizoguchi Kenji, Ozu Yasujiro, and Martin Scorsese in film; Tony Bennett, Ella Fitzgerald, k d lang, Frank Sinatra in popular song; James Baldwin and George Orwell in prose.
I was on a rare occasion or two in the presence of some of those listed above. Kurosawa and I were both in Alice Tully Hall for the screening of his Ran at the New York Film Festival years ago; he was in the principle box, I was practically out on Broadway. I have attended concerts by Bennett, Fitzgerald, lang, and Sinatra; performances by Dewhurst, Irwin, Jones, and Robards.
All were exquisite pieces of time.
With Sondheim, the scenario is a little different. Let’s go back a few years…
The original production of “Into the Woods” was in previews. I had already come to know how important Sondheim was to American theater and to me. I was also having a difficult period in my life in just about every respect. I knew I wanted to see the show, as failing to see the show would somehow be a great failure for me and just worsen my perception of my life. I got myself a ticket for a preview performance on my birthday as a present to myself, even though I really couldn’t afford it (previews were cheaper then, but still…). On that night, I settled in, orchestra left in the rows K through N area, and waited for the curtain. Being short, I was thrilled that the seat on the aisle just in front of me was empty; I was thrilled that I wouldn’t have to keep adjusting my position to see past this troll occupying this seat who would have no sense of there being anyone else in the theater. Just as the house lights were going down, a figure slid into the aisle seat in the row before me. I was in seat 3; he was in 1. At least he wasn’t big enough to be a complete troll.
I was immediately entranced by Tom Aldredge, as the narrator, the rest of the cast, the orchestra, everything. I couldn’t, however, block out that man in the row in front of me. He was having such a great time, alternating between responding happily to what was on the stage and scribbling notes on a yellow legal pad on his lap. It was too far from the posted official opening for him to have been a critic looking for a head start, so I wondered who he was. Then I got a look at his profile; it was Sondheim himself.
The rest of my evening was divided between watching the stage and watching Sondheim. Either would have made for an incomparable evening. Both…! I had long before given myself over to Sondheim’s music and his form of musical theater. That night I came to like the man: he was clearly a member of the audience that night, loving the work of the performers. His laughter was the same as mine and the rest of the audience. He was especially entranced by Bernadette Peters. He had a great time watching what she did.
And still he made notes.
I had a great time watching him. Finest present, birthday or otherwise, I’ve had.
Rest well, Stephen. You’ve shown us all how to whistle. You didn’t leave the page blank.
_________
Rest in Peace: Ed Bullins; Senator Max Cleland; Dean Stockwell.
In Memoriam: Raymond Durgnat; George W. Hunt, S.J.; Samson Raphaelson; Andrew Sarris; Stefan Sharff.
_________
Willow Entertainment Media Staff: Melissa Bilecky; Selma Jasaravec.
Editorial Consultants: Steve Carosso; Chris McAteer.
Contact info: Feel free to respond to my comments here on line. Feel free also to email me at donophontom@gmail.com. Please be aware that I will feel free to quote, with attribution, in future posts any email received at this address unless the sender specifically requests either anonymity or that no reference be made whatsoever to the comments rendered.
[1] The final words of Sondheim and Lapine’s “Sunday in the Park with George.”
[2] It can be seen, though, on D. A. Pennebaker’s documentary Company, which showcases the recording of the Original Cast Album, currently streaming on the Criterion Channel.
Gonna Say it Now 